


Power's Out

by achievewriting



Series: Power's Out [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Mentions of alcohol, Smut, and they were ROOMMATES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 23:46:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14248422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievewriting/pseuds/achievewriting
Summary: oh my god they were roommates





	Power's Out

**Author's Note:**

> [a playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1263129610/playlist/0DlsqXUPHakImorT3R5Rg2?si=rvFR4QKsT2u2yToLICJizA)

Your electric blanket has failed you. **  
**

In fact, power to the entire street has failed you.

You’d come home to your apartment cold, dark, and quiet, the light switch void of function when you flipped it out of habit. Power was out for maintenance, and according to the notice board on Neighbourly, would continue to be so until the early hours of the morning.

As you lie shivering under every spare blanket you can find, you admit that sneaking off to bed at seven wasn’t the greatest idea. Two hours had passed and you aren’t any warmer than when you first crawled under the covers. You think of the fire you know is burning low in the living room, last stoked half an hour or so ago by Trevor, before you heard him retire as well.

You’re out of bed before you even register the decision, a duvet or two bundled in your arms.

Your bedroom is freezing, and the hallway is worse, but as you near the orange glow that backlights the sofa, you almost sigh with relief. It’s near heaven when you turn your back to the burner, the heat seeping through your pajamas to make your skin tingle. For a moment, you forget the task of setting your makeshift bed in favour of closing your eyes and basking in the warmth of the fire.

“The ice queen has thawed!”

You practically jump out of your skin. Trevor’s making his way across the room, grinning as he sidles up beside you. “You’re a shit,” you accuse, and you’re treated to a laugh. “Also, ice queen?”

“Well, it is freezing,” he turns and holds his hands over the hotplate, “and you disappeared so early I thought you were pissed off at me.” Despite his words, his smile is teasing.

You shift to face the fire as well, careful to keep your blankets away from the heat. “Hey, I didn’t want to sit up all night using my data instead of the wireless, and I figured the sooner I went to bed, the sooner I’d be warm.” You give him an exaggerated shrug and raise the bedding in your arms, “A thesis that was very wrong, apparently.”

Trevor looks from you, to the couch over his shoulder, to your blankets, then back to you. “You - you’re gonna sleep out here?”

“My bed’s stone cold and has been for about two hours, so yeah.”

He looks at you incredulously, “And you thought that sleeping on the sofa, on  _that_  sofa, would be better?”

You shrug again, “I’m a desperate, freezing woman, Trevor.”

He laughs, but you watch as something seems to cross his mind, and the way he smirks at you is now somehow nervous. “Well, me too-”

“You’re a desperate, freezing woman?”

He gives you look, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. “Y’got me, alright,” he allows. “But really, you’re cold, I’m cold; why don’t you just come sleep in my bed?” He’s suddenly looking anywhere but you, which you’re grateful for, because your face is burning warmer than the fire at your feet.

You push your perplexion away and narrow your eyes at him with a smile, “You just want my blankets.”

Trevor turns to you, relaxed again with your teasing. “Well, that and your bodily warmth.”

You screw your face up at him, “Do you have to be so creepy about it?”

He laughs, “I’ll take that as a no?”

You sigh as nonchalantly as you can and hand him the blankets before pushing him in the direction of the hallway. “Go on, then. I’ll be right with you, I’ve just gotta grab my phone.”

“Cool, cool.” He’s casual, but you smile to yourself at the puff of his chest, his slightly hurried footsteps down the hall before you.

In your room, you take a moment to compose yourself, breathe, and run your hands through your hair. You and Trevor had had a  _thing_. An extremely brief thing, alcohol-induced and never quite talked about. He took you to his office holiday party, you both abused the open bar, went home, fooled around on the couch, and you flew home for the holidays the next day. Several weeks had come and gone, and each and every one of them you’d spent both wondering how you’d gotten so briefly lucky, and worrying that if you brought it up, Trevor would dismiss the whole thing. You let it be, happy to stay in the stasis of ‘what if’. Still, it’s there, always present in the room when the two of you are alone. Which is often, being roommates and all.

You take your phone from the nightstand and steel yourself. There’s no going back now; you’re beginning to shiver again, and Trevor has all your extra blankets. Nerves aside, you realise you’re giddy - stupid, school-girl, oh-my-god-my-crush-just-said-hi giddy. Blush colours your cheeks, and you only feel more ridiculous, so you grit your teeth and make for the bedroom down the hall.

Trevor is already under the covers, the Twitter feed illuminating his face the only light in the room. He sits up at the sound of your footsteps and smiles softly, setting his phone down. You’re too cold to worry about looking graceful as you climb in next to him. The sheets are frigid and your teeth chatter as you tug the covers up to your chin.

For a moment, you lay side by side, arms barely touching, before you can’t stand the awkwardness, or the cold still making its way under the covers. “It’s too cold for this shit.” You roll onto your side to see Trevor has already taken the hint, arms open for you to press yourself to his chest. You slip an arm around his ribs and bury your face in the fabric of his t-shirt as he wraps his arms around your shoulders. You both shift until you’re closer, more comfortable. The warmth you’ve been seeking all evening finds you as suddenly as sinking into a hot bath, and you practically groan, “Oh,  _god_.”

You feel Trevor’s laughter, “You good down there?” The rumble of his voice through his chest makes you smile.

“Oh, never better,” you hum. “You’re so warm.”

“Glad I could be of service,” he says lightly, “Because you are fucking freezing.” He rubs your back with the flat of his hand as he speaks, raising goosebumps with the friction.

You scoff. “I’ll show you freezing.” With a grin, you press your bare feet to his ankles and earn the reaction you’re looking for. He yelps and straightens his legs to draw them well away from your own.

“You’re an animal!”

“And you’re a wuss,” you tease. “Now, give me back those pins.” He obliges with a small shake of his head, legs back together but not intertwined. You give him a small squeeze, “Thanks for this, Trev.”

You’re surprised when he presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “My pleasure.”

Silence falls comfortably over the two of you. The cold leaves you completely and you’re on the cusp of sleepy when Trevor starts tracing patterns on your back. “Y/N?”

You hum in response, eyes still closed to the feeling of his fingertips on your skin.

“I’m sorry we didn’t talk about what happened at Christmas.”

Your heart either drops, skips a beat, or stops all together. You’re thankful for the sleep in your voice when you hear yourself say evenly, “No, no, don’t be. That’s on me, I - uh, bad timing, is all.” You remember the morning you left for the airport. You’d snuck from your room to make a coffee, gathered your things by the door, then stuck your head in Trevor’s bedroom doorway to say a very quick  _I’m off, have a good Christmas_. You’d set the coffee pot for him, then left the state for two weeks. When you got back, the rush of the new year had robbed you of the will and time to bring it up, and the same seemed true for Trevor. Now, pressed together in the dark and soaked in the warmth and smell of him, there is little else you can think about. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You feel him take a deep breath, and his quick exhale tickles your hairline.

“I tried, for those two weeks, to convince myself it meant nothing. That it was just exactly what it was, a handjob we were too plastered to stop. But I couldn’t do it.” Trevor’s tone is matter-of-fact, but you can feel the quickening rhythm in his chest.

You pull yourself up so your face is level with his on the pillow. In the dim light from behind the curtains, you can make out the lines of his face, the shell of his ear and the dip of his neck. With your movement his hand slips from your shoulder blade to rest on your waist. You pretend not to notice, but his touch burns right through your t-shirt. “Trevor-”

“I want to be honest with you, and I understand if you don’t feel the same, but that was not nothing for me. And I knew, when you got back and you didn’t say anything, and it hurt - I knew that you meant more to me than a fling I could just put aside. I don’t know what, exactly, but I like you, a lot, in a lot of different ways. I think maybe I did even before all this, it just took being with you in that way to see it. It’s stupid, I’m stupid, I know, and looking back now it’s obvious that I did, but-” He swallows and takes his hand from your waist. “If that makes you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, and I understand if you want to go back to your room.” His voice is still controlled, but it wobbles slightly with his last sentence.

You’re glad it’s dark, because you’re sure the myriad of emotions you’re trying to process are making a ridiculous show of themselves on your face. Out of bewilderment, guilt, elation, and about a dozen others, you settle on relief. You collapse back into the mattress to stare at the ceiling, not realising that you’d become so tense, and all you can muster is a breathy, “Huh.”

Beside you, Trevor seems to be holding his breath. You can feel him watching you. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Under the covers, your hand seeks his, finding home in the spaces between his fingers.

“Trev?” Your voice is small but mercifully steady. His thumb makes a delicate pass over your knuckle, and you turn back on to your side to face him, a smile pulling at the edges of your lips. “My dad used to say ‘assumption is the mother of all fuck ups.’ And I think we fucked up, because I should have done this ages ago.”

You free your hand from Trevor’s and bring it to rest under his jaw. You kiss him, and the soft static you feel is just as intoxicating as the first time. You pull away as he leans in. He presses his forehead to yours, and for a moment all you can do is feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the tingle his mouth leaves on yours. “I like you, too, a lot. And I’m sorry that I assumed you didn’t want to talk about this.” You stroke his cheek, his five o'clock shadow a pleasant tickle under your fingertips.

“God, don’t be sorry,” he says, and you wish you could see the smile you hear in his words. “We got there, baby girl.”

The pet name makes something inside you twist and pool beneath your stomach. Your interest in sleep begins to dissipate when he brings his face back to yours. His kiss is tender and curious; and although it’s like the first drop of rain after a drought, your want only grows. When his tongue swipes gently across your bottom lip, you open your mouth to him immediately. The kiss becomes something else, desperate and urgent.

The strength with which he grabs your waist to pull you to him takes you by surprise, and you find yourself in dire need of air as he pushes his hand through your hair. He uses his newfound leverage to tilt your head back and place open-mouthed kisses to your jaw, your neck, the sensitive nook of your collarbone.

Between his mouth, his hands, and the little hums he presses to your skin, you feel yourself grow slick. The need to close any space left between you becomes unbearable. You hook a leg over his waist and grind your hips to his. Your core is met with the hard line of his cock, and you become frustrated with the layers of flannel, more so when Trevor moans and grinds into you again.

You feel like you’re ready to burst when you pull his lips back to yours to gasp, “Trevor, please,” between hot, heavy kisses.

His hands wander from the small of your back to the waistline of your pyjamas, where he toys with the elastic. “What’d you need, baby girl?”

_That name again_. “You, god, all of you,” you moan, “Please, Trevor, fuck me.”

You feel Trevor’s cock twitch at your words. In one deft movement, he sits up to remove his shirt and toss it carelessly over his shoulder. By the time you get yours off, his pants are gone and he’s already tugging your own down your hips.

Free of your clothing, you’re desperate to touch him, to feel skin smooth and firm. You run your hands down his shoulder blades, over the dip of his back, the curve of his ass, before reaching for the length of him. He’s rock hard in your hand, and when you begin to stroke him, a broken and breathy  _‘oh’_  escapes his lips. The sound reminds you of your own desperation, and you pull him with you to the mattress. He settles over you, propped up on an elbow as his other hand makes its way down your body. You claim his mouth in a needy kiss, and it becomes outright sloppy when Trevor slips a finger into the slick of you.

You cry out at his touch, and again when he adds a second digit, with a half moaned remark about how wet you are. Your back arches with the slow rhythm he sets, and your hips buck with every expertly timed curl and crook of his fingers. You see stars when he gives your G-spot a firm rub and presses his thumb to your clit in lazy circles.

Release is beginning to pool when his hand disappears. You groan at the loss of contact. But then he’s nudging your legs further apart to settle between them, and you don’t mind so much. Trevor kisses you firmly before pressing into you with small, slow thrusts. It’s not enough. You wrap your legs around his middle and meet his hips with your own, pulling him all the way in. The satisfaction that comes with the heat and depth of him is dizzying. Trevor makes a noise that’s somewhere between a content sigh and a strangled moan. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. “Holy fuck.”

Trevor chuckles, pressing a kiss to the soft flesh of your throat, “If you insist.”

He draws out of you almost completely before surging back in. He begins to move, the fluid roll of his hips setting a steady pace that you match with your own. It’s not long before you’re both panting, your fingernails scratching for purchase on the skin of his back. You lose yourself in the slick, easy rocking where your body meets his, the slap of skin on skin, the grunts he gives as he buries his face in your neck.

Without breaking his rhythm, Trevor hooks an arm under one of your legs and pushes your knee to your chest, raising your hips and driving him closer, deeper. The new angle is maddening. Almost immediately you feel the sweet, burning pressure of your peak begin to build. You let him quicken his pace before you can’t stand being on the edge any longer. You push the hand supporting your leg away and replace it with your own. He takes the hint and moves to trace quick little circles over your clit.

“Come for me, baby girl.” His voice is hoarse, strained, and when his hips stutter and his thrusts become erratic you realise he’s on the edge, too. His hand between your bodies moves faster, harder. “Let go baby, come for me, I’ve got you.”

That’s it, you’re done. Release is wrung from you. Trevor’s name is torn from your lips again and again, louder with each moan. You throw your head back and your free hand grasps at the sheets as you writhe in heaving, white-hot pleasure. Trevor’s right there with you, his hips meeting yours with a punishing force as he rides out his own climax, coming with a shout of your name.

Your body is still rolling in the aftershocks of your release when Trevor eases his weight to rest on top of you. When his breathing comes slower, as well as yours, you cover his mouth with your own. He grants your curious tongue entrance as he cups your face, fingers tangling gently in your hair. You bask in the taste of him, and the smooth, lazy glide of tongues, until he begins to shiver, and you notice the goosebumps that have prickled your skin where it’s exposed between Trevor and the mattress. In the heat of sex, the covers have slipped past his waist. He yanks them back before bundling you in his arms, his legs intertwining with yours as he rolls you both onto your side.

“Not a bad way to keep warm, huh?” Trevor mumbles. His hooded eyes and dopey post-sex smile have you transfixed. You’re about to agree when you realise with a start that you can  _see_  him.

“What the fuck?” You glance over your shoulder to find the lamp on Trevor’s nightstand switched on, dutifully casting the room in a warm, dim glow. You look to the bedroom door, where the hall light shines through the gap on the floor. Beside you, Trevor laughs.

Settling back into his arms, you narrow your eyes at him. “What?” You can’t help but smile.

He laughs again, “Must have been some good sex if you didn’t notice the power come back on.”

You snort softly. “The building could have been on fire and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

There’s a stretch of silence as he presses a kiss to your forehead and traces soft patterns into the bare skin of your back. The warmth that you feel now is different, no longer just skin deep, and you relax into Trevor’s arms without fear or doubt. You’re teetering on the edge of sleep when Trevor speaks again, softly, his nose nuzzling your hair.

“They should cut the power more often.”

You lift your face to kiss him and it’s barely more than a brush of lips, but the soft static is back again, and your body hums from your fingertips to your toes, particularly where his hands rest on your shoulder, your waist. You lift your hand to caress the slant of his cheekbone, the swell of his bottom lip. Your heart soars, and you realise just how bad you’ve got it.

“Power cut or no, Trev, I’m all yours.”


End file.
